Sandworms of Dune - Brian Herbert [143]
For Murbella’s plan to work, the line of Enemy ships had to be stopped at every point, in every star system. No battleground was unimportant. She had divided her defenders into a hundred discrete groups of one hundred new Guild warships apiece. The battle groups were positioned at widely scattered but important points outside inhabited systems, ready to fend off the approaching Enemy.
As a last line of defense, Murbella’s one hundred newly constructed vessels patrolled space in the vicinity of Chapterhouse, along with a number of smaller, older vessels to flesh out the military force. They knew Omnius considered this planet a primary target. Waiting for the clash, the Mother Commander thought her new ships looked magnificent, the line formidable. The fighters aboard were more confident than afraid.
By the New Sisterhood’s best estimates, though, the thinking machines outnumbered them by more than a hundred to one.
To shore up their confidence, the fighters had all watched holos of the Ixian tests of the new Obliterators on dead Richese, admiring the massive destructive force contained in each of the powerful weapons. Bene Gesserit observers had monitored the Ixian production lines, and technicians had verified the complex weapons after they were installed in Murbella’s fleet. She clung to the hope that this line of last stands could turn into a rout for the forces of Omnius.
More than she had for the past quarter century, the Mother Commander wished Duncan Idaho could be at her side again, facing this final conflict with her. Feeling the loneliness of command, tempted to bow to primitive human superstition and offer up a prayer to some invisible guardian angel, she hardened herself.
This has to work!
Her great ships prowled the edge of planetary orbit, not knowing from which direction the Enemy fleet would come. Down below, the refugees who had filled temporary camps on the plague-emptied continents were anxious to evacuate from Chapterhouse, but even if there were vessels to transport them away, they had nowhere to go. Every functional craft in the sector had been commandeered to face the thinking-machine ships. It was everything the human race could rally.
“Enemy ships approaching, Mother Commander,” said Administrator Gorus, receiving a message from the sensor deck. His pale braid looked somewhat frayed, his skin whiter than usual. He had been convinced to stay aboard the main ship at the central battlefield, to stand by the new ships his factories had produced; he didn’t look at all happy about it.
“Exactly on time. Exactly as expected,” Murbella said. “Disperse our vessels into the widest possible firing spread, so we can hit the Enemy all at once, before they can react to us. Machines are adaptable, but they rarely take the unexpected into account.”
Gorus looked at her sourly. “Are you making assumptions based on old records, Mother Commander? Extrapolating from the way Omnius reacted fifteen thousand years ago?”
“To some extent, but I trust my instincts.”
As the heavily armed machine ships approached, they looked like a meteor shower that grew larger and larger. The monstrous vessels loomed huge—thousands of them against the Sisterhood’s desperate hundred. All along the line, at a hundred other systems, she knew her defenders were facing similar odds.
“Prepare to launch Obliterators. Stop them before they get any closer to Chapterhouse.” Murbella crossed her arms over her chest. Across the commlines, each captain announced his or her readiness.
The oncoming machine ships slowed, as if curious to see what this small obstacle might be. They will underestimate us, Murbella thought. “Maximize targets. Fire into close groupings of Enemy ships. Consolidate explosions.”
“Targets locked, Mother Commander,” Gorus said, his message transmitted immediately by his sensor technicians.
Murbella had to preempt the thinking machines before they could open fire. “Launch Obliterators.” She held herself steady.
Silver sparks spat out of the launch tubes, Obliterators